From where did your beauty come
before it was your own?
It must be archetypical
such beauty could not arise alone,
born on just any face.
Perhaps it was the same beauty
that did cast a thousand ships,
or maybe it was the beauty
some sought to contain in ancient crypts.
It could be the beauty
of an Eden far, far away,
set to life by angels
trumpeting its blessing, your birthday.
This could be the beauty
that made the first man blush,
that first primal beauty
the beat to which all winds rush.
Perhaps it is the bauty
which to the gods did solely belong,
until stolen by your innocence
while they sat passively, enchanted by your song.
Much I know not
but I do know this beauty was not before,
rising not from earthly mud
but made of timeless bud, pure to the core.